


Rest your soul against mine

by Menatiera, revuko



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Angst with a Happy Ending, Background Relationships, Bucky Barnes Feels, Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, HYDRA are assholes, M/M, Non-Graphic Torture, Non-Graphic Violence, Not Avengers: Age of Ultron (Movie) Compliant, Post-Avengers (2012), Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Soulbonds, Standard Winter Soldier Warnings Apply, Steve Rogers Feels, Steve Rogers Needs a Hug, Team as Family, Telepathy, background Bruce/Betty - Freeform, background Clintasha, background Thor/Jane, background pepperony
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-15
Updated: 2019-03-18
Packaged: 2019-11-18 15:29:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 12,787
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18123080
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Menatiera/pseuds/Menatiera, https://archiveofourown.org/users/revuko/pseuds/revuko
Summary: After the Battle of Manhattan, soulmate bonds appear in the form of telepathic connections between two people. All the Avengers seem to be connected to someone - except Steve. He kind of resigns himself to a lonely life without sharing his thoughts and mind with anyone. Then the voice in his head appears.And that's just the beginning of the complications.His soulmate, a soldier, is dismissive, distrustful, and awfully familiar in a strange way. He also sounds tortured and is often in pain.Steve would want to help anyone, but his soulmate? He's ready to rip the world apart to find him.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> This is my contribution to the Stucky AU Big Bang!
> 
> I had tons of amazing people helping me with this story! Several betas through the process, including my artist vvinterdumpling, and then Gavilan, MayanAngel, Opaline Pixie... I needed lot of support during this period, mostly due to my mental health issues flaring up, and I got lots of love and care from the fandom, for which I'm infinitely grateful. You folks rock! <3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Thus, the Soulmate Theory, as journalism liked to call it._
> 
> _Telepathy was another word often used._
> 
> _Steve wasn’t sure how to address it._

Steve was happy for them. He said this to himself, over and over again _ : I’m happy for them. _

It was even true.

But he was also jealous.

At first, everyone had been shocked when the whole “soulmate connection” appeared. The world had erupted into chaos – even more chaos than caused by an alien invasion – but it took a surprisingly short amount of time for it to become, well, normal.

When everyone had started to hear voices, or more precisely  _ one _ voice in their heads, the world had collectively freaked out. But when no other madness had followed it, humanity had done what it did best: they adapted to the situation. People learned to speak through the connection; cults and esotericism sprouted like mushrooms after rainy days; scientists started to study the phenomenon.

Among those scientists were Tony Stark and Bruce Banner, and with some helpful input from Asgardians and the admittedly enormous library on their home planet, they began to piece together what had happened.

It was the Tesseract, of course. That fucking glowing blue cube causing trouble, as  _ always _ , and wasn’t Steve tired of that?

The research was suggesting that the combination of the cube and the scepter had sent an energy signal on a global scale when Natasha closed the portal, and human brain waves gripped onto it like  like a cat to the tree .

Steve never claimed to fully understand the theory Tony and Bruce presented to the scientific world, but translated into common human language, it was basically this: every human brain has a unique wavelength it operates on, as individual as fingerprints. The shockwave from the portal closing caused the human brain to mesh with the wavelength most similar to its own and to form a permanent bond. Something that defied the laws of physics as far as humanity was aware, because this connection couldn’t be stopped by distance, containment or anything of the sort.

Thus, the Soulmate Theory, as journalism liked to call it.

Telepathy was another word often used.

Steve wasn’t sure how to address it.

Just like everyone else, each of his teammates –  whom he had started to think of as friends by that time – had a connection to precisely one human being. Tony started to hear Pepper’s voice in his head after he fell from the portal. Clint and Natasha shared a bond, too. Bruce introduced Betty as soon as they all moved in to the Tower. Not even Thor was above the effects, and he wasn’t particularly surprised to discover his connection was with Loki.

“He’s my brother,” he shrugged if anyone dared to question it. Not many people had the guts to do so, but one of them was his lady Jane, who joined Tony and Bruce’s scientific efforts as soon as she was done yelling with Thor for disappearing on her. (Jane was also non-romantically bonded, to a woman named Sif.)

So everyone had someone else. And Steve was  _ happy for them _ , because God knew they needed each other to rely on, to have at least that one person they could trust completely, one who was able to see the darkest bits in them and love them nonetheless.

(Of course, the scientific theory never said anything about  _ love _ or  _ care _ , the science only cared for wavelengths and statistics and experiments. But it also wasn’t able to tell why some connections were between people with similar personality types, interests or habits while other connected people who were the complete opposite of each other, so humanity in general ran with the explanation they felt the most fitting.)

Steve was the only person he knew who wasn’t connected to anyone.

Well, on a global scale, there were others, of course. No one under 12-16 had connections - it seemed to show itself as the other symptoms of puberty hit - and elderly people often lacked it too.

Looking for scientific explanation of this phenomenon and the lack of it had became the most favorable study subject of neurology overnight, so there was data available for Steve if he felt like looking for it.

People with certain neurological diseases or mental health issues were also unable to keep the soulmate connection. (The official name was Tesseract-Induced Neurological Synchronization, TINS for shortened version, but even academic studies had started to refer to it as soulmate connection.) People with severe Alzheimer disease, for example, weren’t able to bond.

Peggy didn’t seem to mind it.

Of course, half of the time she probably wasn’t aware TINS existed at all.

Steve dutifully visited her nonetheless, and on good days, they spent wonderful afternoons together. On bad days, however, Steve kept repeating the same sentences over and over again, that he ‘came back’ from the dead, or answered to names that weren’t his.

He could deal with it. Not like he had any other choice. He couldn’t cure Peggy – no one could. And Steve couldn’t think of anyone else alive who could be his soulmate anyway.

If Bucky were alive, sure. Steve had no doubt, with or without Peggy in the picture, he would’ve been connected to Bucky.

But Bucky fell, Peggy grew old, and Steve was alone in his head.

Until he wasn’t.


	2. Steve

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve isn't as alone in his head as he thought.  
> It's not really something that he expected.  
> And that's only the beginning of the complications.

He was hanging out with the team in the new living room, pen in hand  s he worked on facial expression studies of the others .

Natasha had been suspicious when Steve first asked her permission to sketch her, and Clint outright laughed at him for wanting to draw  _ him _ while he had subjects at hand like Tony or Thor, but everyone had gotten used to it by now. Even Bruce didn’t mind when Steve stared at him for a long time, zoning out as he tried to see the  _ lines _ , the ones to which he had to reduce his model to create a recognizable portrait without the excessive amount of work that went into a realistic drawing, the ones he sometimes saw instantly and sometimes had to search for.

It was a normal day. Raindrops patted on the windows, courtesy of Thor’s leaving an hour or so ago. Tony was mumbling something to the coffee machine while he waited for Jane to finish making her hot chocolate, but he also had that blessed smile on his face that suggested he was also talking to Pepper, even though Pepper wasn’t present physically. Natasha and Clint were playing some video game with a lot of shooting and acrobatics in it, but they had the same dopey adoration in their eyes when they glanced at each other.

At first Steve only noticed the shivers: the cramps pulling on his muscles and the way his teeth clicked together. He started to feel it belatedly; the cold somehow creeping from the inside out, starting from behind his forehead and flushing through him rapidly. It made drawing impossible, the lines coming too shaky for a preferable outcome. Steve observed his own state with an almost clinical curiosity.

“Steve, you alright?” It was Bruce who quietly asked, and that was when Steve finally started to worry, because shaking in a warm room without any reason certainly wasn’t normal.

“I--” he stopped almost as soon as he opened his mouth. He wanted to say  _ sure. _ He wanted to say  _ good as ever _ . He wanted to be  _ alright _ because admitting the alternative hadn’t been an option for so long. “I don’t know,” he said, finally.

_ ‘It’s normal,’ _ a thought answered, and Steve’s eyes widened and the pen fell out of his hand.

“What did you say?” he asked.

“You are shivering,” Bruce pointed out the obvious.

“You seem a bit pale,” Tony added.

_ ‘Core temperature is about to rise. Have to endure,’ _ the voice said.

Everyone was staring at Steve.

“I’m alright,” Steve said out loud.  _ ‘Are we alright?’ _ he asked tentatively in his head.

_ ‘Confirmed. Everything is according to procedure, no outward sign that would suggest otherwise.’ _

Steve couldn’t just sit still. He stood up. He had to go, but he had no idea where. He wanted to run, to yell, to scream, to weep. He had a voice in his head, a voice that sounded awfully familiar, a voice that talked nonsense,  a voice that came from somewhere beyond Steve's location . He had a  _ soulmate _ .

He wanted to go to his room and talk to the mysterious stranger who was supposed to be his perfect match. He felt nauseous; his heart pounded and his head swam, but his chest was swelling with joy and for the first time since his awakening he… didn’t feel frozen inside. He needed all of his self-control to stop himself from shouting.  _ He had a soulmate! _

He was almost at the elevator when the pain ripped into him: a shocking wave bolting through him from head to toe, pulling his muscles into a cramped mess and turning the world upside down before it went black.

All he could hear was a tortured scream, echoing in his head until it cut off sharply and Steve was able to open his eyes (when had he closed them?) to see Clint above him. “Cap? Steve?” He barely felt Clint’s hand on his shoulder.

“Yeah,” Steve rasped and cleared his throat. Whatever the pain was, it passed. Only the memory of it lingered, though not enough to dull the joy and the worry that came with the discovery of his soulmate. “I’m fine.”

“I’m kind of biased here, but I find your standard for  _ fine _ worrying,” Bruce said, appearing in Steve’s peripheral vision with a pair of wet washcloths and trying to twist them around Steve’s wrists.

He yanked his hands away. “Don’t.”

Bruce stopped. Clint scowled.

“Jarvis says your body temperature is higher than usual,” Tony said, also hovering close, but not too close.

Steve tried to care, but couldn’t. He wasn’t  _ cold _ . He didn’t want to risk it.  _ ‘Are you there?’  _ He tried to reach out, to focus his thoughts, but no one answered.

“And you kind of collapsed like a sack of potatoes all sudden,” Natasha added, “which would be hilarious of a sight if it didn’t freak out everyone else.”

Steve looked from one to another and he knew they were genuinely concerned. Even if Natasha seemed unbothered, the fact that she stood here and spoke up was enough to show that she cared. Tony was hiding his hands in his pant pockets, like always when nervous. Clint was still holding Steve’s shoulder.

“Medical,” Bruce said firmly. “I know you act like the serum is your get out of jail free card, but it’s not when we’re concerned.”

Steve wanted to tell them. The words were on the tip of his tongue, to announce:  _ I’m not alone, I’m not a freak _ , to say: _ I have a soulmate too. _ He wanted to say, but he couldn’t.

“Okay, I’ll go to Medical,” he said instead.

He wanted to say he finally had a soulmate, but he didn’t know how to say that his soulmate screamed in his head like there was no tomorrow coming and hadn’t said anything else since.

***

Medical didn’t find anything out of order.

His higher than usual body temperature turned out to be Steve’s normal – when compared to his medical records from the forties, the new measurements turned out to be the baseline, and he had been running on lower numbers since his awakening.

“And SHIELD didn’t think to mention this to me once?” Steve couldn’t swallow back a sharp remark.

The doctors had permitted only one guest in the room with Steve, and it was Clint who had opted to stay. Clint shrugged. “I guess you were pretty preoccupied at the time.” Which was true, but it still  _ hurt _ . SHIELD kept too many secrets to Steve’s taste, but they were the only option he’d had. An option he didn’t even choose.

Well, he had one now with the Avengers. Even though they were officially tied to SHIELD, they  were also a force of their own. They could trust each other – they had fought together, they had saved the world together, and now they were living together. They had seen the good and bad in each other, they had spent their time together – they had became friends.

Yet Steve couldn’t get himself to bring up the voice yet. He tried to reach out again and again in his head, but to no avail.

“Any idea what could’ve caused your seizure?” the doctors asked, and Steve just shook his head and locked his jaws.

“I’m fine,” he insisted instead, “can I go now?”

They couldn’t have held him back even if they’d tried.

He was pacing in his room when he felt the first tentative poke again, and Steve halted. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath and slowly exhaled.  _ ‘Are you there?’ _ he asked, for the umpteenth time.

_ ‘Are you trying to distract me?’ _ Steve couldn’t detect emotions in the voice; it seemed like the other only asked out of clinical curiosity. It was odd, and in comparison, Steve’s enthusiasm seemed ridiculous.

_ ‘No, of course not,’ _ Steve hastily said.  _ ‘You disappeared and I got worried.’ _

Silence.

_ ‘If you’re in the middle of something important, I can shut up,’ _ Steve offered, though he wasn’t sure he could. He held his breath.

_ ‘My work is important.’  _ The reply came dulled, monotone, like the words had been repeated over and over again so much they barely had any meaning anymore.

_ ‘I don’t doubt that. But you… you were in pain.’ _ He hoped his mental voice was as gentle as he felt. His phrasing was as low-key as it could be.

His soulmate had felt a pain that knocked a supersoldier unconscious, or at least unresponsive… Steve knew he had a higher than normal pain tolerance. He had a hard time understanding how the other person could have handled the full force of whatever happened if the tailwind of it affected Steve this much.

_ ‘Pain is irrelevant. Pain is part of the process. Pain is the price we pay.’ _

It didn’t sound honest. It sounded like a broken record on repeat. It sounded like the most horrible thing he had heard, felt so cruel of the world that his soulmate dismissed his own pain so easily.

_ ‘No,’ _ Steve couldn’t stop himself,  _ ‘no, your pain is not irrelevant to me.’ _

Silence again, heavy, surprised, flat.

The first emotion Steve felt through the connection since the seizure.

_ ‘Is this a test?’ _ the other finally asked, but didn’t give enough time for Steve to actually respond.  _ ‘It doesn’t matter. Mission accomplished, heading to extraction point. You couldn’t distract me.’ _

Steve sat down heavily.

Mission. Extraction point.

He shouldn’t have been surprised his soulmate was a soldier. But being a soldier still didn’t explain the pain and the seizure and the… well, the dulled voice was at least understandable in light of this new piece of information. Steve had heard how soldiers’ voices got more and more empty as the war shredded more and more of their spirit.

His soulmate sounded like the worst of the disenchanted veterans.

_ ‘Where are you serving?’  _ he asked. It was better than to announce that he got it, that the other didn’t have to worry about rejection because of this, that…

The silence tensed between them, and Steve felt his muscles tensing too.

_ ‘Give authorization code for requesting mission report.’ _

Steve sighed.  _ ‘I didn’t want to pry,’  _ he tried to explain.  _ ‘I’m your soulmate? There isn’t much we can hide from each other, I think. I don’t really know how this works, but it seems the others are always sharing things with their partners.’ _

Silence.

_ ‘Soldier?’ _ Steve tried, and it occurred to him only now. The other sounded, felt so familiar - which wasn’t that surprising, given the nature of their connection and that they were practically in each other’s heads. Steve didn’t even realized until now when he tried to directly address the other.  _ ‘I don’t even know your name.’ _

Silence.

Steve hesitated for a minute. He knew he should start and share his name but... he didn’t want to. His name was publicly known as the civil identity of Captain America. Whoever this soldier was, he probably had all kind of preconceptions about Steve Rogers, about the man who was Captain America. He had probably heard about him from books and studied him in school, and if he typed this name into the search bar, the internet spat out all kind of ’information’ about Steve Rogers, facts mixed with theories and false accusations and real stories and...

Steve didn’t want his other half to have all of that before they could even meet. Selfishly, he wanted to start without all the judgment and expectations, just this once.

But it wasn’t exactly fair to the soldier.

_ ’Do you want to know my name?’  _ he asked, with a spike of disappointment that he couldn’t exactly hide.

Silence.

The other didn’t answer, and it hurt, hurt way more than if he had shared without question. Steve wasn’t prepared for silence. Silence meant his soulmate wasn’t interested in Steve. Silence meant  _ his soulmate _ didn’t want to know anything of Steve, not even his name.

Silence.

Steve felt dread growing in him, swallowing everything else.

_ ’Where are you from?’ _

Silence. He was tired and afraid and felt small.

_ ’When will you come home from deployment?’ _

Silence.

_ ’Do you have a family waiting for you? Maybe a girlfriend?’ _

No matter what Steve asked, the other didn’t answer.

By the time evening settled, the dread faded away and the only thing he felt was cold.


	3. Winter Soldier

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In his cryosleep, the Soldier was dreaming.

In his cryosleep, the Soldier was dreaming. He wasn’t sure how that happened, and didn’t think about it much, but the fact remained.

In his dream, the Soldier was named Steve Rogers and he was a hero. In his dream, the Soldier wasn’t frozen, he lived with a group of people called Avengers.

The Soldier was vaguely aware of how absurd this all was, but he didn’t mind. It was better than his  _ own _ life, and though he knew it was forbidden, he treasured the images. The Soldier wasn’t supposed to have anything but a mission – yet he had this. The Soldier wasn’t supposed to feel anything – yet when he was dreaming, he felt all kind of things.

Steve Rogers was, first and foremost, lonely. The Soldier knew that feeling. He knew the deep craving for  _ something _ he couldn’t name. He couldn’t put his finger on the source of the absence, but he knew it existed, that Steve missed… someone. The Soldier had no idea who that person was, if it was a person at all.

At the same time, despite this ache, Steve Rogers didn't appear to be lonely . Steve Rogers had people around; he had people whom he cared for and who cared for him in return. Besides the nighttime, there was hardly  a moment Steve Rogers was alone. He was accompanied by the redheaded woman in the gym, he played games with the blond archer, he sketched in the workshop of the engineer with a goatee, he went shopping with the unassuming scientist. Sometimes, when the muscled alien was around, they went on  missions outside of the compound with no conflict at all .

The Soldier couldn’t remember their names, and he didn’t really try to, either.

He rarely bothered with names.

Maybe Steve Rogers was a handler. He was supposed to remember handlers, they were etched into his brain with pains and shocks and corrections. He was never supposed to forget who to obey. Anyone else wasn’t important. Handlers changed, but they always made sure he knew and remembered them.

The fact that he remembered Steve Rogers proved he was supposed to be a handler as well.

But Steve Rogers wasn’t approved as a handler with the usual methods. He wasn’t introduced; he wasn’t validated by access codes. He was just…

There.

In the Soldier’s dreams, and maybe even beyond those.

Steve Rogers was familiar in a way no one had ever been before. The Soldier remembered his voice in his head - not coming from earpieces and communicators, but actually  _ in there _ \- and how confusing that was. The Soldier remembered that strange… warmth in his chest that the voice caused, the way his toes curled and his guts twisted and his heartbeat sped up. It should’ve been threatening, but it wasn’t.

The Soldier also knew that he wouldn’t remember Steve Rogers or the dreams after he woke up. He never remembered anything after that.

Steve Rogers was looking for someone. Steve Rogers spent at least a few minutes of every day sitting on his bed, legs crossed and hands folded in his lap neatly, and he closed his eyes and wrinkled his forehead and  _ reached out _ . Not with his hands, with something else, somehow… He searched. He didn't give up.

Steve Rogers never gave up. Never backed away from a fight. The Soldier knew that better than he knew himself.

He knew a lot of things about Steve Rogers.

Steve Rogers drank his coffee plain black. Steve Rogers had a misbeating heart and a malfunctioning ear even though he seemed fine. Steve Rogers fought viciously and won even if he got beaten up. Steve Rogers never protected his left flank enough. Steve Rogers was able to draw beautiful portraits in black and white, but he had trouble coloring them. Steve Rogers played fetch with a robot but was wary of touching dogs.

Steve Rogers was always, always so lonely even if many people were around him.

Steve Rogers was restless and unfulfilled.

Just like the Soldier, Steve Rogers had a mission. The Soldier didn't know what the mission was.

But Steve Rogers always had a mission.

And just like the Soldier, Steve Rogers always completed it.

***

The door of the cryofreeze tank opened up. The Soldier fell out to his knees, and was hauled to his feet by two men.

_ 'You're there again!'  _ the voice in his head said. The Soldier had a name for that voice. The one talking in his head was Steve Rogers.

_ "Please,"  _ the Soldier said, both in his head and out loud. He didn't know what he meant. He didn't know if it mattered.

The men carrying him sped up. They dragged him to the Chair.

_ 'Please? Do you need help?'  _ Steve Rogers asked.

The Soldier tried to grab the door frame, but his body was malfunctioning because of the cryo's after-effects. He was still mostly frozen.

_ 'Cryo? What are you talking about?' _

The Soldier didn't realize he’d said anything. He couldn’t see Steve, but he heard in the voice that Steve was frowning.

"Steve," the Soldier panted. He tried to stop them, but he was too weak, too disoriented to be effective. He'd need approximately nine point two minutes for his core temperature to reach functional levels without external help. He wasn't functional yet.

The Chair would change that. The electrical impulse shot through his brain would set his body on fire and make him operational. But he didn't want the Chair.

He wanted Steve.

"Hurry up," one of the technicians said.

_ 'You know my name? What's your name? Calm down, talk to me! You need help? I can help, I promise!' _

Steve Rogers sounded calm, collected. He was commanding. He was the Captain.

He had been a commander even before he became the Captain.

“Steve!”

The mouthguard was shoved between the Soldier's teeth. He bit it. Obedience was necessary. Obedience was survival. The technicians were there to prep him. The techs were making him functional.

_ 'I want to remember you!'  _ his mind screamed.

Then pain. Numbing, blinding pain. Darkness. Silence.

Obedience.

Mission.

The Soldier shut the strange voice in his head out, not listening to its pleas anymore. The Soldier had to focus on his mission without distractions.


	4. Steve

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve asks for help.

"So... what's this meeting is about?" Tony asked, fingers drumming on the table, unable to stay still, as usual. Normally he'd have a tablet to fiddle with, but Steve had asked him not to pull it out unless he had to, so he’d started to play on his watch instead.

"If you could stay quiet for a few more minutes, we'd get to know," Natasha answered, blowing on one freshly painted nail by the sound of it. Steve didn't approve of nail polish in the meetings either, but Natasha would only do it more if he tried to stop her. And that soft pine-green she found yesterday on their shopping trip went well with her eyes.

"Now I'm curious too, Cap's rarely this hesitant to start," Clint added, and Steve could picture him yawning and hugging his coffee mug closer.

"It's almost noon, how can you still be this sleepy?" Bruce mused, the only early bird among the night owls.

Steve, who was listening to the conversation from the other side of the door, actually smiled at that. He and Bruce hit it off in the early hours, usually when Steve was back from his run and Bruce was done with his yoga and they still had a few hours before the others stumbled out of their floors and rooms. He didn't want to listen in on them now, but he needed a few moments to compose himself.

He sighed, pushed himself away from the wall, and walked into the conference room.

"Thanks for your patience," he greeted them. Tony lazily saluted with two fingers and Steve's heart ached because the movement was so familiar, from a lifetime ago. "First of all, this is not an Avengers meeting. There’s something personal I'd like your help with, if you are willing."

Everyone straightened up at that. It was... more than unusual from Steve. Even Natasha abandoned her nail polish for a few seconds to glance at him in a rare display of interest.

"Okay," Bruce said slowly, "I think I speak for everyone when I say that you have our attention."

Steve took a deep breath.

"I have a soulmate."

The Avengers exchanged a look. "Ehm, congrats?" Clint tried, brows furrowing.

“Welcome to the club, Cap!” Tony grinned widely.

"I keep losing him."

Natasha blinked, and Clint flinched in reply to something she had probably said in his head.

Tony tapped on the table with his fingers to get their attention. "Okay, what the fuck you mean you keep losing him? Like, I can safely say we're experts in the soulmate connection studies with Brucie Bear, and we've never heard of the connection not being stable. It's either there and it works or it isn't there at all, and only death stops it."

Bruce held up his hand. "So, it's a first time." He silenced Tony without even looking at him. "We alter our paradigm to the facts, not the facts to the paradigm, Tony. Jarvis, record this conversation please. Steve, tell us everything you've experienced so far."

So Steve did. He recounted the two times the connection came alive, the symptoms, the information he had on his soulmate. The weird conversation, the way his soulmate ignored him, the pain and physical sensations that accompanied those days.

Everyone remembered that day Steve had fainted on them, of course.

Steve didn't miss the worried glances all of them exchanged as the conversation progressed. He didn't need to be told that his situation was fucked up.

"You think someone's torturing him," Bruce said.

"I _know_ someone is torturing him,” Steve protested.

"But he said he finished a mission, so he can't be a prisoner," Tony frowned.

"Oh, he can be," Natasha said, staring at her nails. Clint was behind her, kneading the tense muscles of her shoulder in an instant. "You said he was cold. And he mentioned something called cryo."

Steve nodded.

"I mean, to some extent it makes sense," Bruce mused. "We know the supersoldier serum amplifies everything. Maybe it amplifies the soulmate connection too. So instead of simple thought-sharing, you are connected with him on a physical level as well."

"And it would explain the lower body temperature," Tony interjected.

"We always thought it was because Steve was frozen in the Arctic, but..."

"... hibernation as a concept has been around for decades in science-fiction, if someone figured out how to apply it in practice..."

"...a physical connection would make Steve feel colder. Because his soulmate is under."

"But I don't know how anyone could do it to a living human, I mean, the defrosting would cause such severe damage on a cellular level..."

"It's doable," Natasha interrupted the science duo.

Steve's head whipped to her direction.

“Excuse me,” Bruce said, and his tone was just a bit more harsh than usual, “I didn’t realize you’d become a biochemist and biophysicist overnight.”

Natasha shot him a pinched look, and Steve could’ve sworn for a moment there was actual _hurt_ in her eyes. No one really knew what was going on between those two, except maybe Clint and Betty, but there was something under the surface that made their alliance fragile beyond the politeness they sported toward each other.

“I’m not,” she answered, and her tone was neutral enough that no one was the wiser about her emotions. “But I’ve witnessed it in action once.”

Steve sat down, hands folded in front of him. “I’m listening.”

***

After a few moments of pause, it was Clint who spoke up and told them about the myth of the Winter Soldier, the boogeyman of the intelligence community, the assassin of assassins, the infamous Soviet operative of destruction. He told them no one knew if he was even real, despite the number of hits credited to his name. He told it like a fairy tale, like a bedtime story to children: with a smirk and some loose humor in his voice, posture relaxed and his hands not stopping their ministrations massaging Natasha’s shoulders.

At one point Natasha raised her hand and steered the story to a different direction. She didn't talk about the Winter Soldier, she talked about a man who trained her, a man she called Yasha, her tone void of emotions and her face carefully neutral.

They both wore masks and armors, only different ones, Steve thought as he listened the story of a ghost. The Winter Soldier - Yasha - was carefully contained both awake and in deep freeze.

"They would never admit they were afraid of him. But they felt it nonetheless," Natasha said. "I've never told this to anyone but Clint," she admitted quietly. "I told SHIELD I got away on my own, but that's a lie. Yasha helped me, once he figured out what I was after. We wanted to get away together, but we were found out - they always found out if someone tried to escape, I knew that, but I was arrogant enough to think we’d be different. Yasha turned against them. Bought me enough time to disappear," she said, her voice eerily calm.

Steve didn't know what to say. He didn't know what to feel, either, numbed by the horror of the story. His soulmate was supposed to be the world's best assassin? The person he was closest to was the infamous killer even people like SHIELD agents feared? His beloved was held prisoner for who knew how many years, struggling and losing his battles to gain his freedom? His connected was abused and tortured over and over again?

"Hey there," Bruce's hand was on Steve's shoulder, "breathe, Steve." His tone was sympathetic and Steve looked up abruptly and he didn't see pity in the doctor's eyes, but understanding. "We'll figure this one out."

"Damn right we will," Tony jumped to his feet, turning to Natasha, "it's a man under strain and torture, and you say he’s wanted to get away from them for at least ten years, if not more."

Steve took deep breaths and composed himself. They were his team, the Avengers, and they would stand behind him even if his soulmate turned out to be a maniac serial killer.

But he couldn't believe that. The mind he got glimpses of was not of someone who enjoyed what he was doing. He was in pain, he was mechanical, he was burned out, he was tired. He was determined and - Steve was sure of that - he was misled to think he was doing  the right thing. Steve had to help him. Not because the man was his soulmate, but because no one deserved what he had been going through.

"They do something to make him to forget. The Chair. That was that painful experience that knocked me out," Steve said, resting his palm on the back of Bruce's hand.

"Some form of brainwashing," Natasha said. "Probably a lot more brutal than the ones we Black Widows went through. They formed us almost from birth, but I'm pretty sure the Soldier wasn't raised by them. They sometimes called him the American."

"The American." Tony's tone was flat.

"A defector?" Clint guessed.

"No," Steve interjected, suddenly sure of his truth, "a prisoner of war."

It sounded like something that would definitely fit everything he had heard and read about the Cold War and all the awful things governments had done during it.

The silence that followed his statement was heavy, but not uncomfortable, and of course it was Tony who broke it by clapping his hands together. "Alright, we're all on the same track here, I'm sure. Operation Let's Save Cap's Boyfriend is on the roll."

“You don’t have to do this,” Steve warned, his voice soft. “I can’t ask any of you to take part in this.”

“Who said you have to?” Clint flashed a bright smile.

“If you want to say again it’s not Avengers business, we know that as well,” Natasha continued, and Steve swallowed because he wanted to say exactly that.

“You’re our friend, Steve,” Bruce said. “We’re in this together, no matter if it’s official business or not. You have our help.”

“So that’s settled,” Tony said. “The Agent Duo will use their connections and spooky-shady spy methods to get to know everything about this guy, I’ll go and hack everything that can have information about the Winter Soldier, Cap will be on watch to get in contact with him again once awoken, and Brucie Bear will assist all of us and keep us sane during the process. How’s that sounding?”

Steve looked at all of them. Tony smirked, proud and eager to help. Clint stood behind Natasha but fixed his gaze on Steve, and both of them smiled in a way they rarely did, soft and honest and encouraging. Bruce’s hand was a solid anchor on Steve’s shoulder, a steady presence that promised calm during any storm that might be coming.

They were his team, but they also were his friends, and Steve wanted to cry in the face of their loyalty, their willingness to offer everything they could just to help him and make him happy.

He swallowed, unable to speak, and nodded.


	5. Winter Soldier

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's a mission, and there's a voice. The two is hardly compatible.

_ ‘I know you can hear me,’ _ the voice among the Soldier’s thoughts said. The Soldier kept ignoring it. Something was wrong with the voice - it didn’t belong here, he knew. Somehow, keeping the voice with him during a mission was a mistake.

The voice should be safe, not on a mission.

_ ‘I bet I’m annoying,’ _ it kept on, sounding almost smug.  _ ‘I mean, I’d find myself annoying if I were you. But since you don’t answer me, I have to entertain myself.’ _

The Soldier actually thought about answering just to shut it up, but he figured that would only make things worse. When in doubt, the Soldier kept quiet, and even though he didn’t remember exactly why, he was relatively sure that silence was a viable and remunerative tactic.

The voice was humming a song, old and familiar.

The Soldier leaned down to scope the scene, finger curling on the trigger. His mark could appear at any moment now. He stilled his breathing.  _ Focus _ , the Soldier reminded himself.

_ ‘Focus on what?’ _ the voice chirped in, and the Soldier suppressed a groan. The black car showed up in his field of vision. He aimed the barrel at the darkened glass, straining his eyes to make out the faint shape of a man inside as he followed the vehicle’s route with his rifle. He breathed in, out. Shot in five seconds.

_ ‘By the way, have I introduced myself?’ _ The voice didn’t shut up. The Soldier inhaled and held the breath as he lined up for the shot.  _ ‘My name’s Steve Rogers. What’s yours?’ _

The Soldier flinched. The shot echoed in the small apartment room, and it missed its mark. The Soldier was shivering, his mind suddenly filled with pain and images he couldn’t identify. Images of a small blond boy, images of a life in a Tower surrounded by fellow superheroes, images of camaraderie next to a campfire, of dance halls and fire escapes and torn couches, of family dinners and sick beds in hospitals, of…

_ ‘You okay?’ _ the voice asked. _ ‘Wow. That’s not a reaction I expected, I admit.’ _

The Soldier forced his body into stillness, mind roaring beneath the surface. He forced his eyes open,  aimed the rifle, and fired again at the next exhale.

This time he didn’t miss.

The pain behind his eyes increased.

The Soldier grabbed the rifle and jumped to his feet and hastily set the room on fire to eliminate all traces of his presence there, knowing the flames would eat up any evidence that might have been left. His head was throbbing, images and sounds and oh god, familiar scents flooding his senses.

_ ‘Easy, soldier,’  _ Steve Rogers said,  _ ‘calm down, please.’ _

He knew Steve Rogers. The Soldier knew Steve Rogers. The pain following the realization sent the Soldier on his knees, breaths heaving, and needing several seconds before he could continue his route to the extraction point.

_ ‘Breathe,’ _ Steve murmured.  _ ‘Yes, we’ve talked before.’ _

No. That wasn’t covering it. 

Down on street level, the Soldier hotwired a car.

_ “Stop this,” _ the Soldier groaned as he drove. He realized belatedly that he said the words out loud.  _ “Get out of my head.” _

‘ _ No can do, sorry.’ _ The voice didn’t sound sorry at all.  _ ‘We’re soulmates.’ _

_ “I don’t have a soulmate,” _ he answered on autopilot.

_ ‘Everyone has a soulmate,’ _ Steve replied, confident.  _ ‘What’s your name?’ _

_ “You already know my name,” _ he said. Steve Rogers called him soldier when attempting to calm him.

_ ‘Uh-uh, nope. I just know your job, not your name. I know you’re a soldier.’ _

_ “I am THE Soldier,” _ he corrected, allowing the barest hint of pride to his voice. It wasn’t a small accomplishment, to be entrusted with the fate of humanity in his hands. He helped his handlers to shaped the world to the better. For humanity to have the freedom it deserved.

That was his purpose. That was what he was created for, that was what he had always done... his hands tightened on the steering wheel as he took a turn and swallowed bile in his throat. If he had always done it, then why was his head filled with these disturbing images? Of the blond boy with bloodied knuckles, of the huge man with the sad smile, of back alleys and exquisite interiors?

_ ‘They make you forget me,’ _ Steve Rogers said quietly.  _ ‘You know what the Chair is?’ _

The Soldier stopped the car. He felt the dread creeping up on his spine, making him shiver. The jet was waiting for him just a few meters ahead. Ready to take him back to base, to report, and to rest after the successful mission. As always.

As always?

What was his last mission before this? He didn’t remember the target.

He hesitated.

He didn’t want it. No, that’s… he wasn’t supposed to  _ want _ anything. He was the Winter Soldier, he lived for the mission, he had nothing else but the mission.

_ ‘You have me,’ _ Steve Rogers said. His tone was… it took a while to find a word for it. His tone was gentle.

_ ‘It’s forbidden,’ _ the Soldier thought.  _ ‘I’ll be punished.’ _

_ ‘I can help you,’ _ Steve Rogers offered, and it was tempting, his voice made of sweets and velvet, dripping with honesty, rolled in promise of a brighter future.  _ ‘Meet me. Don’t go back. Come to me instead,’ _ he said.

The Soldier shook his head. “The Soldier is to return to base within 12 hours after mission success,” he recited, to no one in particular. Because he was no one. He was the mission. He had finished the mission, but barely. Steve Rogers was a threat to him, distracting him from the mission. Threats to the mission should be eliminated.

_ ‘What happens if you can’t finish a mission?’ _ Steve Rogers asked. 

That was easy. Failing a mission meant the Soldier became obsolete and couldn’t serve its purpose anymore. Failing a mission meant the Soldier should be terminated and replaced with a better asset.

_ ‘Are you in danger because of me?’ _ the voice gasped.  _ ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t know. I’m sorry I tried to distract you.’ _

At least he admitted what he did. The Soldier liked that, even if it left him even more confused.

When in doubt, follow protocols.

The Soldier got out of the car, swung his rifle onto his back, and walked to the jet.

***

Steve Rogers didn’t shut up. The Soldier managed to keep his face under control and not show any sign of what was going on in his head. (Of course, it didn’t matter much, the muzzle was hiding most of his expression for the moment.) The personnel in the jet didn’t notice anything. Not like they paid any attention to the Soldier. They never did when their guns weren’t trained on him.

Steve Rogers didn’t try to persuade him to defect again. But he didn’t leave the Soldier alone, either. 

It was annoying. It was… it awoke a warmth in the Soldier’s chest he was sure he hadn’t felt for a long time.

He strode into the base with his usual confidence, not sparing a glance at anyone who crossed his path, finding his way through the maze of corridors with ease. Muscle memory, when his own didn’t serve him well enough. He  _ knew _ he had been in this base countless times; he knew these walls, these doors; he knew he was several stories underground; he knew many things. But at the same time, he didn’t know many of his own thoughts. He had no recollection of how he knew these things. No memories attached to the knowledge.

He never had.

_ ‘You don’t even know what city you’re in?’ _ Steve Rogers asked.

No, he didn’t.

Left, right, left, left. Two knocks.

He picked the right door, went inside, and sank to his knees in the middle of the empty space, ignoring the beeping monitors, the deposit boxes, the equipment around.

_ ‘What are you doing?’ _

Following protocol. Dumbass.

Steve Rogers’ disapproval radiated from his silence.

The Soldier stared at the tiles in front of him. For a few moments, he wished Steve Rogers was here. He wished he would come through the door instead of his handlers.

_ ‘I wish that too,’ _ the answer came, fragile and delicate, like it could be shattered with a louder thought. The Soldier closed his eyes.

His handler stormed in.

“What the hell was that? Two shots, Soldier? Explain!”

The Soldier didn’t look up, just flinched at the harsh tone, so different from the conversation in his head. He opened his mouth to report. He opened his mouth to tell about the voice in his head, about Steve Rogers and him endangering the mission with his constant babble.

“An unexpected wind steered the first shot half a degree to the left, Sir,” he said, wondering what the hell was he doing. “After mental recalibration, a successful shot was taken and the target eliminated, Sir.”

“That’s unacceptable, Soldier,” his handler fumed. “You are expected to succeed with the first shot, understand? You’re lucky you had the chance for the second one.”

“Yessir,” he said.

_ ‘Well done, soulmate,’ _ Steve Rogers said. He didn’t ask him why he had lied. He probably knew. The Soldier wanted to ask Steve Rogers to explain to him as well, because he personally had no idea.

He never lied to handlers.

Of course, he didn’t remember a lot of things, now that he was thinking about it. Had he thought about it before? Or had he just accepted it? 

_ ‘It doesn’t matter,’ _ Steve Rogers said.  _ ‘You can’t change the past. But we’re here, and we can decide what to do with our choices now.’ _

The Soldier had no choices. Obedience was necessary. Obedience was survival.

His handler was still talking about how important this mission was, and how unacceptable failure was. The Soldier didn’t point out that he hadn’t failed the mission. If he had, he’d be decommissioned by now.

_ ‘I wouldn’t let that happen,’ _ Steve Rogers said.

“Prep him for cryo,” his handler said. The Soldier wasn’t sure when the technicians had come in, too preoccupied with his handler and with Steve Rogers.

The Soldier knew it was his last chance to mention the voice to his handler. Last chance to confess his mistake, to admit he lied. He knew his lies would be found out eventually.

He remained silent. He watched his handler leave and let himself be dragged to his feet and led to the cryo chamber. Syringes slid under his skin to pump chemicals to his bloodstream.  _ ‘I could kill them,’ _ he thought, almost in a haze,  _ ‘but that wouldn’t change anything.’ _

_ ‘No, it wouldn’t,’  _ Steve Rogers agreed.  _ ‘Don't be like them, you're better than them. I'm on my way for you, I promise. Try to find out where you are. Please, help me find you. I'll help you.’ _

The Soldier silently disagreed as he took his place in the tube.

_ ‘I’ll come for you,’  _  Steve Rogers promised.  _ ‘Find out where you are, and I’ll come for you.’ _

_ ‘No you won’t,’  _  the Soldier thought. There was no point. He was the Soldier. His work was important. He couldn’t abandon it. No one was coming, no one ever did anymore. He wished it was true, he wished Steve Rogers would show up in the flesh and be with him for real, not just in his head, but that was pointless and impossible. There was no escape from here. He had learned that long ago.

“Hail Hydra,” the lead technician said.

“Hail Hydra,” the Soldier echoed obediently. 

He felt a wave of unusual dread overwhelming him at the words, then the chamber closed and the world turned dark and cold.


	6. Steve

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shock, planning, cuddling. In that order, preferably.

“He’s held by Hydra,” Steve said.

“Yes, you’ve mentioned,” Natasha said, petting his hand patiently.

Steve stared ahead, dazed and lost. “My soulmate is a Hydra operative,” he said again. And again. And again. He couldn’t. It was… how was this even possible?

“Calm down, Steve,” Bruce said. Tony put a cup of coffee to his hand. Steve drank it without looking, realizing a few seconds too late that it burned his tongue and throat.

“I can’t believe we broke Captain America,” Clint mused from the top of the fridge.

“You’re not helping, birdbrain,” Tony shot him a glare. “Steve, look at me.”

Steve did, but he wasn’t sure he saw Tony. His head was filled with the conversation he had with the Soldier, the same sentences echoing over and over, hitting the walls of his skull in mocking crescendo. He tried to take a deep breath, but it came out muffled, and he was choking on the air.

“You’re in shock, Steve,” Bruce said. “It’ll take a bit for your system to overcome it. Drink up.” Another glass was shoved in his hand. He drank that too. It was soda this time, some kind of that he didn’t bother to identify.

“How could Hydra exist at all? I killed the Red Skull. Their plan failed. And Peggy finished the job, created SHIELD to prevent something like that again,” Steve fumed.

“A million dollar question,” Natasha agreed, “and it’s even more interesting given that we work for the best intelligence agency and we haven’t heard a single word about them.”

“Tasha, you read my mind.” Clint smiled.

“Well then, fill us in,” Tony suggested.

“I see two options,” Clint said.

“Either the connection has been discovered and those words are a distraction aimed to Steve,” Natasha started. “Which is tactically sound, but we know no way to trace down soulmate connections, and we’d know of an interrogation through Steve, so technically it’s quite unlikely to assume.”

“Or if it’s not the case, then a whole terrorist organization has managed to hide from SHIELD since the second world war,” Clint announced cheerfully.

“Which means they have control over SHIELD or high-ranking agents inside it. This level of secrecy and hiding would be impossible to accomplish otherwise,” Natasha finished the thought.

Steve straightened his spine. “Hydra has my soulmate as their prisoner, and you say SHIELD takes part in the responsibility of it?” he asked, dangerously low and quiet.

“Hold your horses,” Bruce warned, wary. “It’s just a theory so far.”

“But not without a point,” Tony interjected. “I mean, I’m not a fan of SHIELD myself, but they’re not amateurs. If Hydra is a real thing, SHIELD should know about it.”

Steve gritted his teeth and stood up. “I died for nothing.”

It was Natasha who placed a placating hand on his shoulder this time. “Well, you saved the whole East Coast. If you insist it’s nothing…” she trailed off and went up on her toes to kiss his forehead. “Give yourself a break, Captain. We’ll find a solution together, I promise.”

Steve nodded, still numb on the inside. “This time, I’ll kill them all,” he stated. “No more chances.”

The Avengers shared a worried glance, but Steve ignored them as he stomped out of the living room and headed to the gym and his punching bags. 

“Wait, Steve!” Bruce hurried after him after a second of stunned silence. Steve didn’t stop.

Fucking Hydra.

***

By the time he was through the third punching bag (probably would have been at least the twelfth in any ordinary gym) Steve knew what he had to do.

***

“Absolutely not,” Tony stomped his heel on the carpet. “You won’t play bait for Hydra’s assassin, for fuck’s sake.”

“You’re not thinking rationally,” Bruce protested as well.

“Guys, we don’t need to break Captain America, he breaks himself without help,” Clint said with a grin.

Steve folded his arms across his chest and glared. “I don’t hear any of you offering a better idea.”

Natasha smirked. “Listen,” she said.

***

Steve sat on his bed and stared at the wall that night, thoughts running in every direction at once. 

He couldn’t process how much the team had offered to help him - Clint especially, but all of them, coming up with solutions, tailoring their plan until it was acceptable to everyone (even if rather reluctantly), putting themselves willingly in danger for Steve’s soulmate they knew nothing good about.

He wondered about the Soldier, how familiar he felt - it made sense, with such a connection, right? - how tortured he sounded, how his mechanical, learned, brainwashed thoughts hurt Steve in every way. Steve rubbed his upper arm, trying to erase a cold that he couldn’t stop.

“Thinking of him?” a soft voice called from the door, and Steve dropped his hands as he looked up at Pepper.

“Can you blame me?” He spared her a tired smile.

“Not really,” she admitted, coming in and motioning to the bed. When Steve nodded, she sat down next to him. “Can’t imagine how you’re still standing. I’m so used to Tony’s thoughts now, I’d lose my mind if he disappeared from one minute to the other.”

“That’s the difference, I think,” Steve said, “I’ve never had something like you two share to compare it to. It’s just… my new normal, I guess.” He shifted his weight, moving back and leaning against the wall, then opened his arms.

Pepper nested herself comfortably into the embrace.

Steve loved this: loved the graceful confidence with which Pepper let others show her their affection. She was undeniably her own woman first, and then Tony’s partner, and anything else only after that, and this solid knowledge allowed her to be comfortable with everyone else, to love everyone in their own way.

At first Steve had kept his distance from everyone, but Pepper went out of her way to break the ice between them. After they became friends, she never minded Steve’s tactile nature, and never felt threatened by his touch. She enjoyed the casual way each was able to handle the other, the comfort of a friendship that could never be disturbed by either of them shifting it into something romantic or possessive. 

Pepper sighed and relaxed, turning her head to look up at him in casual intimacy. “What are you afraid of?”

“I don’t want to lose him,” Steve admitted, almost reflexively.

Pepper remained silent, her eyes open, the corner of her lips turning upwards as she waited, knowing that he’d continue.

“I mean, I keep losing him, it’s already happening, and I can’t stop it. I know that he’ll wake up and he’ll be tortured again, and I can’t do anything but listen to it and hope I’ll be able to get through him again before he goes down or slips away completely.” Steve felt his chest tighten again, the phantom ache of past asthma attacks taking away his breath, and his hands didn’t shake only because they were resting on her warm skin.

“And you’re afraid you’ll fail to get through.” It was more of a statement than a question. “Steve, we both know you’re too stubborn for that to happen.”

Steve made a face but didn’t have the audacity to deny it.

“What else?”

“You do this a lot with Tony, don’t you?”

She shrugged. “You and Tony are quite similar in many ways, and different in even more.” 

“Did the team send you, as the one with the most experience, to deal with me?”

“Like they could tell me what to do and not the other way around.” Pepper laughed, and Steve had to bow to that. “Come on, Steve, spill.”

Steve sighed. “I’m just miserable without him, okay? Isn’t that enough?” He took a few deep breaths, but Pepper didn’t say anything, so he had to continue. “I’m afraid. I blame myself for getting this attached to him without knowing much about him. I’m afraid I’ll have to fight him when the time comes. I don’t want to, but I’ll have to if Natasha’s intel about his enhancements is true. I want to save him from Hydra, but I don’t even know if he wants to be saved. I mean, I know he would want to, in his lucid moments, but will he be lucid enough when the time comes? If he fights, we’ll have to hurt him. I’ll have to hurt him. I don’t know if he’ll ever trust me after that. I don’t want to lose him even before I could get to him properly. I’m…” He heaved in a breath, unable to continue, unable to finish. He squeezed his eyes shut. He always wore his heart on his sleeve, many had said before, but he never was the one to complain loudly. That was new.

Pepper’s touch on his cheek was feather-light. 

“Me and Tony, we know only as much as you let us know,” she said quietly, “but he didn’t sound like someone who would blame you for anything. And I’m sure it will be rough at first, but in the long run, he’ll be nothing but grateful to you for freeing him from that terrible situation. Even if he won’t see that at first, you’ll have to believe that he’ll get there eventually.”

Steve nodded, speechless.

“I can stay a bit, if you want me to, but I can leave you alone as well,” she offered.

He shrugged at first. He was used to it - he had been alone most of his life. Well, that wasn’t true - he had Bucky, but Bucky wasn’t ever solely his. Bucky had other friends, and had a family, and jobs, and responsibilities. Steve was used to holing himself up when in pain, and Bucky was used to breaking down his walls to get to him.

He couldn’t ask the same from anyone in the future. And he was content to be left alone.

Pepper shook her head when he said so. “You are not alone in this, Steve. You have friends now,” she reminded.

They remained close for a long time, and they didn’t part when Tony came in to the room, without knocking or asking permission.

Tony simply wrapped his arms around Pepper’s waist, worming his arm between their bodies, dropping his head on her shoulder. “Nice,” he commented only, no hint of malice or jealousy, and dozed off almost immediately. Jarvis dimmed the lights in the room without comments, and Steve switched on the reading lamp at the bedside table.

It was Natasha who followed a few minutes later, her whisper preceding her as she asked if she could come in, and of course she could. Pepper and Tony were asleep by that time, Steve’s arm wrapped around them, but his other side was free, and Natasha slipped under his arm easily.

“Is this normal in the future?” Steve asked quietly.

“I don’t think so.” Natasha shrugged, and smiled at him. “But I think we all can use a little comfort now, huh?”

“It was quite normal during the war,” Steve admitted, breathing in the soft scent of sleeping people around him. “I’ve missed it.”

Natasha didn’t say anything, but Clint joined them, dragging Bruce with him, who held Betty’s hand, who had Jane on her other side.

Steve just arched a questioning eyebrow.

“Next time we do this in Tony’s bed,” Clint grumbled quietly, “ way bigger.”

“And how do you know that, exactly?” Betty teased.

“I’m a master spy,” Clint said, taking his hearing aids out. “Move your elbow, Bruce, it’s in my side.”

Steve blinked at Natasha again, trying to get comfortable with as little movement as he could manage in the middle of the pile of people. “You sure it’s a good idea?”

“Scientifically speaking, it is,” Jane yawned.

“Shut up already,” Pepper murmured, “sleep.”

So they did.

No one argued with a sleepy Pepper Potts, after all.


	7. Winter Soldier

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everything goes according the plan... mostly. And then not at all.

The mission seemed to be simple. The Soldier studied the file of Barton, Clinton Francis; aliases Hawkeye and Ronin; SHIELD agent, classified as Level 7 threat, marksman and sniper.

The Soldier had the vague feeling that the name SHIELD was familiar. Maybe he had been lent out to them before, but he couldn't recollect the mission itself. Not like it mattered. Apparently, the agent called Hawkeye had gone rogue with a terrorist group called the Avengers, and it was the Soldier's task to eliminate the threat before the other sniper could finish an assassination assignment.

Targets above level six meant increased preparation time. Usually level six and above was the result of high security around the target - it was rarer that the target itself was the threat. Its contents memorized, the Soldier closed the file.

"You have to finish him in close combat. Make it look messy. Craft a scene as if a local mob killed him," his handler instructed. The Soldier nodded and went to arm himself.

Something was wrong, but he couldn't tell what. The back of his head itched as if he were being watched. The Soldier ignored the sensation. The Soldier was always watched.

The word  _ Avengers _ kept pounding in his head.

***

The Soldier wouldn’t have picked that location for the operation, but the handlers had said he had to kill the target in that particular apartment building, and in close range, so he had no other options than to head there. 

The mission wasn't right.

Barton, Francis Clinton wasn't an ordinary target.

The plan was fallible.

The Avengers were dangerous.

Yet the Soldier complied.

***

_ ‘Don’t obey,’ _ the voice in his head said.

The Soldier stilled. The voice was familiar.

_ ‘Yes, we’ve talked before,’ _ it responded, and the Soldier blinked.  _ ‘I know your mission. It’s wrong. It doesn’t bring peace or freedom to anyone. Don’t obey.’ _

The Soldier gritted his teeth and continued his movements. What the voice said was treason. The voice was an enemy of Hydra. 

_ ‘I can’t argue with that,’ _ the voice agreed, almost sheepishly.

He’d report it to his handlers after the mission.

_ ‘You didn’t report me last time,’ _ it said. The Soldier frowned, but didn’t stop assembling the trap in the corridor. If Barton tried to escape, the mechanism would kill him. It would be harder to make it look like a mob pay-off, but it would still be easier than letting the man escape and then facing the consequences. 

And the voice in his head talked nonsense. There was no last time. The Soldier lived for the mission. Only the mission mattered. The voice tried to interfere with the mission. Therefore, the voice was hostile and should not be listened to.

The Soldier tried to shut it off.

_ ‘No, please!’  _ There was a pause, distinctive and familiar, and for some reason the Soldier was sure the owner of the voice was rubbing the back of his neck nervously, as he always did when anxious.  _ ‘I’m not doing this right. I’m a friend. I’m on your side.’ _

There were no sides.

The owner of the voice struggled audibly. 

The Soldier still tried to mute it, to lock it out of his head, out of his senses, but it kept coming back. Stubborn voice.

_ ‘I can do this all day,’ _ it warned.

The Soldier felt a rush of heat in his face, and he tripped, swaying to the side, his shoulder brushing the wall.

_ ‘You don’t have to remember me, but I remember you, and I’m going to help you,’  _ the voice continued.

The Soldier growled. He didn’t need assistance for this mission. If the intel was right and he’d find Barton alone…

He stopped dead in his tracks.

The intel wasn’t right. The Soldier didn’t know where this knowledge came from exactly, but he was sure of it.

Trap.

Capture.

Neutralize.

No harm.

No harm.

The Soldier blinked. The voice kept talking.  _ ‘...we’re not your enemies, I know the Chair stops you from remembering me, but we’ve talked several times now.’ _

It didn’t really matter. The Soldier had to finish his mission before he could return to the base. Mission success was crucial to survival. Not fulfilling a mission meant elimination.

_ ‘I can protect you. Mission failure shouldn’t mean elimination,’ _ the voice responded.

He didn’t have time to think. He broke down the door which behind Barton should’ve been, a knife in his left hand and a gun in his right, and stormed in to finish the mission.

***

As he expected, Barton wasn’t alone.

The redheaded woman kicked the gun out of his hand, and the Soldier rewarded her movement with a long cut on her shin with the knife.

Barton interfered before he could kill her.

The fight was fast and brutal. The Soldier snarled under the mask as the target kept dodging his weapons, and he had to pay attention to the woman as well, who was surprisingly agile and strong for her size and build. She was closer to an equal match to the Soldier than anyone he had encountered before, and the sniper stood his ground as well.

The voice in his head yelled.

The two targets - now the redheaded was collateral damage as well - shouted.

The Soldier remained silent, save from the occasional grunts as the air was knocked out of him with a knee in his chest or a hit on his head. The woman’s batons were nasty things, held and used with a perfect grace he had to admire even when he suffered hits from them. The Soldier had extensive experience, but he had never had seen anyone, except maybe himself, who was able to wield batons like the redhead.

The sniper fought with a modified bow, collapsed into a close-range weapon with dangerous bladed edges. The air was heavy with the scent of sweat and the sounds of the fight. The Soldier needed to tap the best of his abilities. It was more than rare that he felt threatened in a fight, but right now it happened. The duo moved together like a well-oiled machine, precise and deadly. They were unpredictable to the Soldier but in perfect sync with each other.

The Soldier was stronger and faster than them, but he was alone against them - and he had the voice in his head. The Soldier didn’t have the capacity to listen to it, but it was talking, constantly trying to distract him. The Soldier ignored it, focused his attention on the threat around him. Weapons scattered the ground as they got kicked out of each other’s hands and picked up again in the heat of the fight. Hit, miss. Dodge the bow, roll away from the baton, swipe her legs from under her. Throw a knife to keep Barton at bay - not a viable tactic for long, the Soldier was almost out of throwing knives. 

He dropped a smoke grenade, but she kicked it out to the corridor, and Barton slammed the door to keep the majority of the chemicals out.

He managed to cut her thigh anyway.

But she wasn’t the main target.

The Soldier slowly shepherded the duo toward a corner, forcing them onto the defensive. They didn’t fight with everything they have - even the sniper, who was supposed to fight for his life from the first moment, held his blows. The Soldier snarled again under his mask, raised his knife for a potentially lethal slash, when something metal hit his arm with brutal force and speed.

The clatter wasn’t loud enough to match the force as the oversized dinner plate ricocheted off the Soldier’s metal arm and embedded itself to the wall nearby.

_ “Stop!” _ the voice sounded both in his head and in the air at the same time, a commanding air surrounding that one word.  _ “Stand down, Soldier!” _

The voice didn’t belong to a handler. The Soldier shouldn’t obey.

But he couldn’t resist the urge to at least  _ look _ at the owner of it, and when he did, the Soldier felt the sight like a punch in his gut and instead of lunging forward and finishing his mission, he stumbled backward, away from the newcomer.

He knew this man.

The image somehow didn’t fit. The man wore a red-white-blue striped uniform, with a star on the chest, but it wasn’t  _ right _ . It was… off, somehow. The colors were too bright, too vivid. He filled the doorframe, shoulders almost as broad as the entrance, and smoke curled around him, sneaking in from the corridor. He didn’t have a helmet on. The Soldier knew he should wear a helmet. His hair was messy, stuck up at every direction, and his shield wasn’t in his hand - of course, it was embedded in the wall - and he raised his hand, palms up, pleading.

“Soulmate,” the newcomer said, and the Soldier stepped back again, away from the targets and away from the man.

His mind was racing. He was only on the seventh floor. A window was behind him, he could jump and flee, disappear in the streets, he could…

“No you can’t,” the man stepped inside and closed the door behind him to keep the majority of the smoke out. Or to be polite. The Soldier wasn’t sure. But he knew the man always closed doors, out of habit.

The image didn’t match up.

A small blond boy with gloriously soft blond hair plagued the Soldier’s thoughts. That boy was hard at the edges, bones sticking out, ribs visible. That boy barely reached the chin of the Soldier in height; compared to him, this man was a giant, all solid muscle and confident grace instead of vicious coughs and spiteful insecurities.

The Soldier didn’t take another step back, despite his instincts saying to move.

He saw this man in sweatpants and bare-chested, studying himself in the mirror. He saw this man resting a hand on the shoulder of the sniper, and hugging the redhead. He saw him…

But he didn’t know, he didn’t understand where these images came from.

The Soldier hurled his last throwing knife at the man, but he hit it away easily with his bare hands.

The sniper and the redhead didn’t attack. They retreated, giving the two of them space.

“Just give me a chance,” the man said.  _ ‘I won’t hurt you. I swear,’ _ he added in his head, the same voice, the same… 

The Soldier didn’t remember, but he  _ knew. _

_ ‘I’ll be decommissioned,’ _ he thought and let down his weapons.

_ ‘I’d never let that happen,’ _ the man said in his head, stepping closer.  _ ‘You’re safe with me.’ _

The Soldier wasn’t sure he knew what that word even meant, and a strangled noise escaped him, muffled by the mask.

“What do you say we take that thing off of you, hm?” the man said, motioning toward the muzzle.

The Soldier hesitated only a brief second, then lifted his hand and bowed his head to unbuckle the straps slowly. His mind was screaming at him for breaking protocols and not following orders, but…

It was  _ him. _

It was Steve.

It was his soulmate.

This man somehow meant a higher, more important protocol, one to overwrite everything else.

The mask fell to the Soldier’s open palm, and he looked up. He had the perfect view of Steve -  _ Steve Rogers  _ \- and the way his face morphed into realization, shock. The way his jaws went slack, his eyes glossy.

The man’s background buzzing of thoughts in the Soldier’s head stilled into silence.

_ “Bucky?” _ Steve breathed, eyes wide, breath catching, heart fluttering in his chest, thoughts pinned to this one word. The Soldier felt it all as if it were his own.

And he didn’t understand any of it.

“Who the hell is Bucky?”

Steve stepped forward and entwined their fingers, slowly pulling him close. The Soldier went. He didn’t understand anything, but he  _ knew _ this. Steve’s arms wrapped him in warmth and safety and  _ home _ .

Protocols be damned.

The Soldier relaxed and closed his eyes.


	8. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve Rogers and the Soldier. Steve and Bucky. They'll get there, eventually. They started on that way, at least.
> 
> ***
> 
> In this chapter, please have the gorgeous artwork, made by [vvinterdumpling](https://vvinterdumpling.tumblr.com/), known here in Ao3 as revuko, who was a delight to work with and who had been absolutely patient with me during this whole process. Thank you for being amazing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Link to the art on tumblr.](https://vvinterdumpling.tumblr.com/post/183552017294/rest-your-soul-against-mine-by-menatiera)
> 
> [Link to my (Mena) tumblr.](https://menatiera.tumblr.com/)

The problems didn’t magically solve themselves.

Steve hardly had any recollections of that time after Bucky had took off the mask: he knew that they got so lost in their thoughts - shared and otherwise - that the outside word had became barely more than a shadow cast upon their minds.

Clint had led Steve to the quinjet, and Steve had held Bucky, and they had been content and calm as long as long as no one bothered them. Steve had already known, in the back of his mind, that this couldn’t go on forever, but he didn’t care. He had known that his outburst, both mental and emotional, was too much for Bucky, but he couldn’t stop his overflowing thoughts, feelings, memories.

For a brief time, it seemed like it could be okay.

The complications came only at the second day and afterwards.

***

The Soldier was healing. At least, that was how they called it, the Avengers.

The Soldier had a new name, which was technically an old one. Steve called him Bucky, and he accepted it from Steve. Not from anyone else. The others called him James. No one called him Soldier, or Asset anymore.

The Soldier had a new mission. His mission was to get better. To heal. He didn’t know what that actually meant, in terms of his contribution to it. His body healed itself, as always. His arm was repaired by Tony Stark.

He got restless. He wasn’t used to be out of cryo this long, and his body ached for the frozen sleep, his mind begged for the wipe. The old protocols caved in his mind.

He didn’t remember Bucky Barnes. He had a constant migraine but no recollection of a time that far away. He had flashes of past missions - he even managed to remember some parts of earlier conversations with Steve Rogers when he showed them through their connection, but only the ones that they shared in their mind.

The Soldier’s mind was constantly filled with memories of him that weren’t him. He couldn’t fully believe that handsome, young man laughing so carelessly could ever had been him.

But Steve Rogers wouldn’t lie to him.

Steve Rogers was the only stable point in his new life. Everything else seemed fragile and fallible. Steve Rogers, no matter how overwhelming, was the only solid footing he could get.

The Avengers didn’t threaten him again, as soon as it was established he wouldn’t try to kill them. That was a fair deal. The Soldier accepted it.

Bruce Banner said his mind and body was healing. Tony Stark said his arm is a piece of art, but he could do better, if the Soldier would give permission for it. Natasha Romanov said they had known each other, in a place called Red Room. Clint Barton said he shouldn’t worry because he’d be back on his feet from some brainwashing in no time. Even Thor, when visiting, talked to him and said he was sorry for the pain he had to go through.

The Soldier didn’t know what to do.

The Soldier tried to accommodate himself for the thought of a mission as long-lasting as this one promised to be.

***

Steve tried not to push. He tried to give as much freedom to Bucky as he could, and the fact that they were constantly at each others’ head made that easier and harder at the same time. It made being physically separated easier. But it meant he involuntary became the first source of surveillance over Bucky.

Steve tried to learn how to shield his mind.

Turned out, he was absolutely shit at it.

Bucky would probably been better at it, given the chance, but he refused every offer to learn the basics from anyone else but Steve, and Steve couldn’t do it himself, so it wasn’t like he could teach it.

Steve didn’t mention the constant headaches to anyone. Bucky was the priority here, not him. He could deal with some pain.

Also, there was the problem of Hydra.

They managed to get Bucky back from them, but the threat wasn’t eliminated, and Steve wanted _blood_ for what they did to his best friend and now soulmate.

But Bucky’s wellbeing was an absolute priority over revenge, and any time Steve thought about Hydra and revenge and going against them, Bucky started shivering and once when Steve didn’t stop himself in time he even got a minor aneurysm. (“It’s probably a self-defense trigger in their part, should Bucky ever rebel against them,” Bruce explained afterwards.) So that was off the table for a while.

It was almost a week after their return to the Tower that Bucky crawled into Steve’s bed and arms. He pressed his back to Steve’s chest, and Steve wrapped him in a hug.

 _‘You alright?’_ Steve asked, humming a song from their childhood, old and familiar and comforting.

“I am operational,” Bucky shrugged, and glanced back at him. “Missed you.”

“I missed you too, buddy,” Steve smiled. “Wanna sleep like this?”

“Hm,” Bucky agreed.

Their heart was beating to the same rhythm and their breathing evened out to follow the same pattern. Bucky’s mind was louder than usual, but Steve did his best to not pry, and not to focus on any individual thought, not to pick out anything from the constant white noise. They were getting better at this.

“You know I’m not him, right?” Bucky finally asked. “Your old friend. Just his face, but not him.”

Steve’s arms tightened and loosened and he remained silent for a few beats, knowing that his thoughts betrayed the sting in his heart anyway.

“I know,” he finally said, then switched to the connection, _‘but it doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter if you remember or not, if you’re him or not.’_

 _‘Why not?’_ Bucky asked, genuinely curious, and maybe genuinely hurt. Steve wasn’t sure. Steve tried his hardest to not get proof.

 _‘Because whoever you’re now, you’re my soulmate,’_ Steve stated, _‘and no matter how stubborn you are, you can’t deny that. You’re the absolutely best and most compatible person with me. In fact, you’re so perfect that we connected against the odds while you were in cryosleep.’_

And Steve was right, Bucky couldn’t say anything to that, and had no other options than to admit it was true.

They fell asleep together.  
  
**THE END  
(for now)**


End file.
